All my life I have been incapable of throwing up in a toilet. Every time I throw up, whether I’m sick from the flu or too many tequilas, I always, always miss the toilet or trash can on the first try. I had a whole plan to write an in-depth Oscars-themed newsletter last week, but the night before I ordered ramen and had two cocktails over a six-hour period. I fell asleep on my couch watching Vanderpump Rules and at some point, the ramen exited my mouth and onto the floor. I was incapacitated the next day, barely able to lift my head enough to look at Vanderpump Rules all day on my phone in bed. So I listened to it on my phone with my head buried in pillows, sweating and then freezing, instead of writing this. The theme of this newsletter is reasons why I didn’t write this newsletter, apparently. But I’m back baybiiii and I’m fine. I think I was exposed to shellfish, which I suddenly became allergic to one day in my early 20s. It will probably kill me one day because I am too embarrassed to explain the allergy to restaurants. Since I am doing well I have unfortunately strung together a sort of but not really Oscars-themed group of words that may or may not make sense.
What happened to being mean?
When I say what happened to being mean, I suppose what I really mean is: what happened to being honest? I tried to say the word mean as much as I could there. Repetition is my favorite literary device. I’ve been reading Michael Schulman’s “Oscar Wars: A History of Hollywood in Gold, Sweat, and Tears” and am enamored by what the people of Old Hollywood said about each other to the press, behind their backs, or to their fucking faces. Someone called an actress a “cold potato.” If only they knew how cold they were today (frozen, but THE VIBES!!!!!).
As the chief of E!’s fashion police, Joan Rivers did not always say the right thing but she was always honest. Now everyone, from E!’s red carpet correspondents to journalists doing splashy profiles are less authentic than a hot pocket (yum). Coverage of celebrity is either overly produced, involves an interviewee more interested in adjacency to fame than the work, or worse, both. During E!’s Oscars red carpet broadcast, fashion designer Christian Siriano, an innovative fashion designer and one of the sassiest bitches to ever appear on the Bravo network, was silenced for his minor critiques by such minds as former Cheetah Girl/former Robert Kardashian girlfriend Adrienne Bailon. Former Cheetah Girl is a qualifier for fashion expert, to be sure, but who is she to talk Siriano out of saying a gown is not that good in the nicest possible way? Saying that a dress a person wore to the Oscars is ugly is fine. Even Laverne Cox, E!’s correspondent on the red carpet, felt like she was at war with her mind and the teleprompter (a cold potato, perhaps). Over the past five years or maybe since Ted Lasso came out, red carpet coverage has transformed into a nonsexual celebrity circle jerk*. Celebrities deserve praise, apparently, for having the bravery to attend an event for which they received an invitation IN CLOTHES. Celebrity profiles, meanwhile, are not so different. They’re more often than not a Twitter journalist’s attempt to brag about how writerly and cool they are (if you really were you wouldn’t have to say it) and/or how well they get along with their famous subject. Unlike E! (or ABC) red carpet coverage, there are a few exceptions to profiles, including The Hollywood Reporter’s Ben Affleck profile that focuses thoughtfully on Ben The Director rather than Ben the Dunkin Blooded Husband of J.Lo.
*Red carpets are a celebrity circle jerk so long as the celeb kills the correspondents with kindness, too. Hugh Grant was called rude by people on the internet for not sucking up to ABC Oscar’s red carpet correspondent Ashley Graham, who understands vanity fair to exclusively be a magazine. I interviewed Grant several years ago and he made several jokes about his character from Paddington 2 raping Paddington and complained about how he doesn’t know how to watch television anymore. He is not rude, he’s just a little unhinged but always 100% himself. Hugh Grant should not be criticized. He should be rewarded for not being full of shit.
Nothing is spicy anymore. I’m bored. I am not saying BY ANY MEANS that there is a war against comedy (if anything comedy is dead so there’s no one to fight). What I do mean is: If you don’t have anything nice to say, it better be fucking good.
Imagine not liking a co-worker
The only person not boring me right now is Brian Cox, who has the unfiltered loud mouth of an Old Hollywood starlet, a 21st-century Katharine Hepburn. Does that make Jeremy Strong Jane Fonda? Cox, a Shakespearean-trained British actor, has been acting for six (6) decades. He is also a European who likely has a healthier work/life balance than the average American. Cox has made his disdain for Succession co-star Jeremy Strong’s acting approach known, most recently calling it “annoying” and “American bullshit.” Strong is a method actor and his character, Kendall Roy, is an awful, depressed addict and a big fucking loser. I love Kendall Roy as a character on television but he’s a fucking drag (so am I lol). I think being in the same room as Kendall Roy would drain every drop of blood, every organ, and every bone from my body. Five minutes into breathing the same air as Kendall Roy and I’d just be a pile of pasty skin. Strong can act however he wants (it’s a brilliant performance and I have on many occasions claimed that he is the inventor of acting) but Cox is allowed to be bothered by it. Today more than ever, talent in the entertainment industry is trained to say the right thing and keep up appearances in addition to maintaining a fan-servicey false narrative that they are BFFs with their co-stars. Cox simply could not give a shit. To Cox, Strong is an annoying co-worker, although his hatred for Strong’s method approach seems to come from a genuine place of love and concern. Every time he talks about it, Cox, in one way or another, says that no one should put themselves through what Strong is putting himself through for a profession as frivolous as acting. Both men are right.
Did you know that The Batman’s butler fucked the Queen of England?
This is what happens when I trust a man with a remote. Even though I almost always regret this as the cultured one of the house, last week I handed my boyfriend the cracked Apple TV remote and told him to pick something. I went to the bathroom. When I came back into the living room my boyfriend was rolling on the floor laughing. he pressed play on Pennyworth: The Origin of Batman’s Butler. I went to bed. Several hours later my boyfriend shout, “penny worth? Kinda good”
Is it? Here are a few things you don’t need to know about:
-Emma Corrin is in it
-Alfred FUCKS
-Alfred kills everyone??? I think in one season he has already killed more people than Tony Soprano killed throughout The Sopranos
- Seriously Alfred kills so many people he doesn’t give a FUCK
-A fascist group led by a guy with no nose and no toes takes over the English government ????
-Alfred kills his fascist dad
-Alfred is fucking the Queen of England but she’s getting clingy
Other than this and my Vanderpump Rules binge (I made it to season seven while editing this, JAX AND BRITTANY ARE ENGAGED), I am really enjoying season two of HBO’s Perry Mason because they’re letting Matthew Rhys be a little bitch. He’s like if Columbo understood the law.
Until next time,
Carrie